See? Consequences. Except I claimed the sword and killed the dragon. For some reason, Excalibur has judged me worthy this generation.Take that, Idols. A clumsy maiden from Strongfair is breaking all the rules. All you kings, princes, and lords better watch out. The female populace is about to learn their worth lies in their own strength, not in what she can do for a man. I’m a pioneer, a trailblazer, and a trendsetter.
Theo slips in the blood on the floor. We fall backward, and his back slams against the floor, sending me bouncing against his hard chest.Okay, fine, I’ll tone it down.
Chapter
Twenty
The kingdom enters an immediate period of mourning, but nobody questions the several plot holes in our tale; the main one being how a gigantic dragon got inside a room with doors not big enough for a beast of that size. The guards had to chop Arthur into tiny pieces to dispose of him. Idols, I hope they burned or buried him, because the thought of dragon stew made a tremor run down my spine. They would be cannibals without realizing it.
The requisite sadness means we can return to the Hallowed Palace without worrying about the empty throne waiting for Hart. He seems less than inclined to take it.
On our way out, we make a stop at the market at the edge of their kingdom. After dismounting, I pat my horse’s neck and check the cloth-wrapped sword has remained firmly attached to the saddle. Excalibur seems satisfied that it has fulfilled its purpose.
As we wander through the market, well-wishers greet the Stirlings with sympathetic words, arm squeezes, and handshakes. An older woman with fine wrinkles around her eyes and mouth steps out in front of our party and bows to Hart and Nash, who were at the front.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she says as she straightens. At this rate, it’ll take an annus to get back to the Hallowed Palace. She grasps a tray from her stall and holds it up to Hart. “Please take this tray to help ease your heavy hearts and empty stomachs.”
Now we are talking. Death is so much easier with food. So much better than the random stuff we’ve accumulated—a wood carved dragon (cute, but you can’t eat it); a flask of whiskey (great, but drinking and riding isn’t a good mix); and perhaps the most bizarre, a bundle of men’s underclothes (as if the Stirlings are going to poop themselves in their sorrow).
They handle each meeting with grace and a never ending-patience I could never achieve. They thank the old woman and then we are free of their kingdom. Nash grabs my hips and lifts me onto his horse, who huffs a little. Hart spins and holds up the plate.
“Take what you need for the journey,” he says. A blush burns my cheeks. What I want isn’t on a plate, but as far as substitutes go, this one will do. I pluck a few pieces of cheese and some tiny squares of spongy cake off the plate. They’ll suffice until we get back, and then I will gorge on everything.
Hart’s lips twitch like he can hear my thoughts. I’d love to correct his assumptions, but I am a terrible liar, and he would find great joy in knowing he’s gotten under my skin.
“Why does cheese smell like feet?” I wonder as I inhale its scent. I pop a cube in my mouth. It’s rubbery but also creamy. Cheese is a conundrum.
“Might have something to do with the fact that it is made from curdled milk,” Nash informs me.
Curdled milk? Seriously? I eyeball the innocent piece of yumminess in my palm. “So you are the product of leftovers and rejects, made into something even better than the snobby milk.”
“Why is she talking to the cheese?” Theo mutters.
“She’s having an epiphany and identifying with the cheese,” Hart drawls, and a sense of amusement drifts from my sword.
“Ignore these judgy knights. They’ve never been rejects. They don’t understand you like I do.” Now that I’ve made friends with the cheese, I can’t eat it. Dammit. How will I feed my stomach gremlin now? I pop the cheese in the hidden pocket of my skirts, which is a revelation. All clothing should have pockets. It’s another thing I would change if I ruled the realm.
As we descend into a damp, murky forest, the dappled light struggles to penetrate the thick canopy above, casting eerie shadows that dance upon the underbrush. Nash assures me that this is the swiftest path, but I believe it is a road less traveled, one where we might evade the prying eyes of those burdened by sorrow. The air is thick with unspoken grief. What they have yet to grasp is that the revelation of Arthur not being their true father is, in time, a hidden blessing. Soon, the truth will cradle them like a gentle breeze, offering solace in the realization that their lineage need not be shackled to the past.
A flash of red appears in the forest, followed by the hungry howl of a wolf. The girl twists her head over her shoulder, seeking the beast on her trail.
“Hey,” I call out.
“What are you doing?” Nash grumbles in my ear.
“We’ve had enough death this diurnal. I am saving the idiot who wears the boldest colors for a jaunt through the forest to her grandmother’s.”
The girl’s gaze lands on us. “He’s following me.”
I grab the reins and pull them to the left to intercept the girl. “Blazes, where are you going?” Theo asks, as their horses follow us.
“Like I said, saving a girl with questionable fashion sense.”
“She’s got a taste of rescuing folks,” Malachi declares. “Now she’s on a mission.”
He’s not completely wrong. But I am not setting about finding people to save, I’m just done ignoring their calls for help.
“Do you have a weapon?” the girl asks with a glance over her shoulder, looking for the wolf tracking her.
